


On the other side of the Atmos

by florieneofthesea



Category: Storm Hawks (Cartoon)
Genre: AU - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21972271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florieneofthesea/pseuds/florieneofthesea
Summary: Piper has questions that need answering, and if those answers happen to lie with Cyclonian victory, then so be it - ten years on, another Storm Hawk betrays the Free Atmos.
Kudos: 15





	On the other side of the Atmos

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this fic was partially inspired by Star Wars because I just marathoned the series last night and I had some thoughts about people being seduced by the dark side/by the power the other side holds. I figured Piper was always the most ambitious of the bunch, and maybe this time, her interest in crystals and the ability to use the Binding overpower whatever sense of duty she felt to the Free Atmos, which, of course, leads her to Cyclonis, so here is a short, tragic look into that outcome, enjoy.

The war had been dragged out, of course. Cyclonia had stayed in conflict for thirty years the last time, they seemed to revel in long-drawn out battles, whittling down their opponent’s resources. Some in the Empire are convinced the only way for the world to know happiness, to know true peace, is for all to fall under Cyclonian rule. Maybe not in their lifetimes though, because the Atmosians are not the weak, shabby front they were in the past. Today, the Free Atmos had a leader whose actions spoke louder than his words. They had an army bound together by trust, inter-dependence, unity. They had brilliant engineers under their wings who’s genius and expertise was nourished rather than suppressed. Their only mistake was they didn’t have her.

And so Cyclonia won.

* * *

The cycle continues, the circle unbroken, history repeats itself, and today she brings Cyclonis three captives, three Storm Hawks.

The fourth one got away.

Stork was always a little more perceptive, a lot more paranoid. It almost hurts that he’d expected this outcome enough to have some sort of a plan. The Condor didn’t sink through the clouds that day, but it did vanish from the face of the Atmos, and that’s almost the same. The Alliance didn’t crumble, it had been built in turmoil, it’s constituents held fast and strong, she should know, she helped forge those ties, thicker than blood, thicker than steel. But all the same, the Free Atmos loses that day, and every day onwards they’re reminded of the strength of the Empire, the lull of the powerful.

Cyclonis laughs when she greets her, “I told you we were best friends forever,” She drawls out.

The Dark Ace doesn’t react. For once he seems devoid of any sort of malice, even when his worst enemy is unconscious as his feet, he makes no move to fight, no move to kill. There’s something to the man that puts her off, he’s been alive too long for someone who’s hands are that bloody, and to her it means something. He has answers, and she has questions. But not today, and maybe not for a while.

Today, Cyclonis commands the Far Side crystal and she can feels it’s power. The red lotus is a beating heart and Cyclonis pulls that energy and twists it to her will. She shows her how to do it too. The power threads itself around her fingers, around her wrist and she feels the cool, quiet calm that came with absolute control.

Hundreds of ships sank that day, hundreds of skimmers. All for what? Why? Piper has too many questions and not enough time to ever gather the answers. Sometimes, she thinks she doesn't want them to be answered. It means looking in the mirror and wondering if she did the right thing - but there's no point wasting away wondering about the past, the dead don't come back.

The cycle continues, the circle unbroken, history repeats itself and today, ten years on, another Storm Hawk betrays the Free Atmos.

* * *

She barges into the Dark Ace’s quarters without warning, and is met with three fiery blasts, all of which would’ve hit their mark no doubt, if she hadn’t anticipated his reaction to her shoving the doors open. The firebolt blasts shatter against her shield and she strides in, the door hissing shut behind her.

“You,” He fills the word with an impressive amount of disdain and boredom.

“Me,” Piper agrees, and doesn’t give him time to throw her out, “Why did you kill Lightning Strike?”

He doesn’t even blink, “Having second thoughts about sparing your Sky Knight?”

“I want to know.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“I’ll find out eventually,” She presses.

“Then don’t waste my time.”

He won’t talk, and she almost feels foolish for thinking he’d spill his story after keeping it under lock and key for ten or so years. Piper turns heel and leaves, speaking to the Dark Ace is like speaking to a metal wall, nothing but distorted echo, and nothing useful. But she meant it when she said she’d find out, after all, Cyclonia’s vast libraries and archives were her playground, nothing more comprehensive existed in the Atmos, not even Terra Rex had anything as grand as the Empire, she’d find out, one of these texts must have an answer. Something about the Dark Ace's integration into the Empire. Was he a double agent from the beginning? Sent by some espionage force in Cyclonia to burn the Sky Knights from the inside? Or was he Atmosian? With a change of heart, a change of motive, like her. Again, so many questions, not enough time. The arena will open soon, and she's expected in attendance. 

* * *

A year ago she’d been convinced that she would get used to this. Cyclonia’s fighter rings were brutal and vicious and source of constant propaganda for the Empire since their greatest victory in the war. A year on, her stomach still churns at the sight of the ring, a small circle of sand at the centre of thousands of seats, stacked tall and high, the crowd leering down. She sits next to Cyclonis, but she’s perched on the edge of her seat, her hands are cold, and the dim crystal lighting does nothing to improve her mood. They toss out the competitors and the crowd screams for blood.

Some days, there’s only two fighters. Other days there’s thirty, forty. Sometimes they’re all voluntary, wanting a title, a reward. Sometimes they’re all criminals, sometimes they’re not.

Today there’s ten.

The commentator makes his over the top announcement, these are soldiers and mercenaries in the ring today, they walk the ring, drawing applause and cheers, they make their case to Cyclonis, who accepts them with an easy wave, promising some boon. All but one, who stands where he was placed, silent.

“Who’s your money on Dark Ace?”

“The red one, who else.”

“I was hoping you’d switch it up a little.”

“No use betting to lose.”

Cyclonis chuckles and turns to her, “And you? Competition seems strong today, maybe he dies.”

“He won’t,” Piper says. He’s had a year to die, that path out has been offered countless times, nearly every day, and he hasn’t taken it. He’d never take it. For seventeen years he’s had one goal. Survive. A ring of death won’t stop him now, can't stop him, even if it’s a poor farmer that stands shaking, scared, or a child, crying for their mother. Aerrow’s eyes aren’t quite green anymore. 

"You two are so predictable,” Cyclonis drawls and beckons an aide, “Tell the fighters the first one to kill the Sky Knight gets their wishes fulfilled.”

Cyclonis could promise the fighters the crown to the Empire, she could promise them the impossible and it wouldn’t change the outcome. The aide nods furiously and sprints to the commentator’s box, passing along the message that’s then broadcasted and the fighters beat their chests and bang their weapons and turn on him. The crowd makes their bets. A horn booms and immediately three of the fighters kill each other to minimise their competition. The other six try for Aerrow’s head, and two of them are dead at his feet, throats bleeding, gurgling. The remainder of the match is a bloody squabble and she forced herself to watch the whole ordeal.

This was her idea, to put him in the ring. It was this or let him be executed, and no matter how much she told herself that he’d be better of dead than suffering, she couldn’t bring herself to make that choice. This way at least she could go to sleep knowing she didn’t order the death of her best friend.

But some days it’s worse to know that the blood he spills on the sandy arena, the cuts and bruises he has, the countless lives he’s forced to take are all by her hand. 

His ribs are broken from the impact of a wayward punch, and he takes a stab to get close enough to cut the last fighter’s throat. The man chokes and crumples, his hand sliding away from the short-knife he’d concealed. Aerrow steps away, coughing up his own blood, grimacing at the knife twisting between his already bruised ribs. He doesn’t move to take it out, it’s the only thing between him and bleeding to death. The healers will come and fix it, like they always do. He's the main attraction in this arena. People pay good money to see him fight, to see him kill.

He doesn't touch the knife, but he picks up a spear, broken in half during the fight, one end splintered, the other end holding a heavy, sharpened steel head. He tests its weight.

“Here it comes,” The Dark Ace says absently.

Piper anticipates it every time, but the force of the spear as it’s thrown at Cyclonis still surprises her each time. The metal thing shatters against her crystal shield, it’s components rain down on the viewers underneath their box who are screaming in fear and excitement. Cyclonis only giggles and waves for him to be taken away.

Aerrow doesn't protest as the guards clamp him down and bind his hands. Somehow, from this far, he can pick her out. It's a cold, chilling stare, nothing like it used to be. She can't read his expression. She can't tell if he's trying to plead with her to do something, or if he's angry, if that last throw was meant for _her_ head. The guards snap a blindfold over his eyes and lead him back to the dungeons, to be stitched up well enough so that he can fight tomorrow, and the day after that.

Cyclonis leaves to attend to her projects. Piper will join her shortly, but for now she walks with the Dark Ace down one of the many halls in the tower.

"Why did you kill him?" She asks again as they near the T-intersection at the end of the hall.

The Dark Ace lets out a frustrated grunt and stops short all of a sudden, "I thought you were the smart one," He says, "There are things worse than dying," and the pieces she'd subconsciously held back slide in place.

She's put together the puzzle and the result is stone-heavy guilt. Piper turns and walks back down the hall, back to the arena. The stands will all be empty, the guards would let her pass without a second thought. But they don't even see her, cloaked in her crystal magic. She moves with an urgency she hasn't felt in a full year. _I'm so sorry_ , she thinks.

By morning, Aerrow is dead.


End file.
